


The Sun Shall Rise Again

by NoirAngel011



Series: Snapshots Of The March Girls; From 1861 To 1865 [1]
Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Other, Sisterly Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirAngel011/pseuds/NoirAngel011
Summary: Jo March, and the process of learning to grieve, mourn, and grow.Small changes have been made and dialogue may not be exact. The scene of Jo and her Father talking following Beth’s death has been extended. Based on the 2017 miniseries (AKA, the best adaptation of Little Women to date.)
Relationships: Elizabeth March & Josephine March
Series: Snapshots Of The March Girls; From 1861 To 1865 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566445
Kudos: 4





	The Sun Shall Rise Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Little Women work. Jo is my favorite character and I felt like the miniseries didn't focus on her grief enough. I kinda just jumped to Amy and Laurie. So I fixed it.

All anyone could see was the empty, lifeless husk of a girl. Her blue eyes were drained of color, her beautiful longhair was as dead as her insides, and most off all, she felt as though she had lost a piece of her soul along with her sister. 

A girl that had been so full of life and creativity and motive now appeared so frail and dead.

When Beth had been taken from them, there had been no immediate reaction. Just a stunned, dreadful feeling hanging in the air.

But after, when Father had been writing the sermon for her funeral, and Marmee had been cleaning up her things, both of them cried.

Meg cried, John cried, Marmee cried, Father cried.

But Jo, she never cried.

She was captured, unable to find a way to escape. Her grief was overwhelming, but she would not cry.

So she busied herself around the house. She did all the things Beth had done. She made bread, she dusted valuables, she polished glass and cleaned mirrors.

Drowning, was the best way to describe it. She was caught in a current and couldn't get out. It was going to keep pulling her deeper and deeper underwater until she too fell victim.

Why was God so terribly, terribly cruel? Why was her Beth, her dear Beth, taken away from her so soon? It felt like an endless nightmare she could never wake up from.

"She's overcome with her own grief, " Mr. March told his wife one night as they prepared for bed. They could her Jo upstairs, doing something, moving around.

"She hasn't had the courage to face the grief she knows is looking down on her. She doesn't want to let the past go, " Marmee replied.

“But she must,” was his expected reply. They knew that she needed to grieve, otherwise she might be trapped forever, tucked away from them where they could never reach.

They both worried for their daughter, now the only one left at home. She was in a depression, if only there was something they could do.

When Jo came walking into Mr. March’s study four days after Beth’s funeral, he was surprised to see her up and about so early.

She was holding a box, Beth’s box.

She didn’t say anything, but drew in a small breath. She was hardly able to get any air in. 

“I thought to put this in the parlor, but it's Beth’s. And I don’t think it should be where I could see it for a while,” she gripped the box so tightly that her knuckles turned white. 

“Of course, of course. It can have a home with me,” he said, taking the woven basket from her hands and placing it on the corner of his desk.

Jo kneeled down in front of him, her hands shaking and breathing unsteady. She was silent for a few moments.

“Help me,” came her quiet cry for help. He could see how hard she was trying not to cry.

“You need to write, Jo. You have words, you need to get them out into the world. You must write.”

It was the only advice she could give her. He had seen her desk in the garret, so empty. She hadn’t written since Beth had fallen ill again. He could see the words in her head, she needed to express them and put pen to paper once again.

“I just can’t figure out where to start,” Jo dropped her eyes to their intertwined hands, Jo’s so much smaller than her father’s.

“Say you were happy once,” she brought her gaze up to meet his, and it was then that the tears fell.

Jo rested her forehead on their hands, crying into his knee. He held her there, letting her sob into him, finally releasing all the emotions she had tried to keep hidden for weeks.

Carefully, her pulled his hands away from hers. Her lifted her up, struggling a little but settling her in his lap, like she was still a little girl and not a grown woman.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds,” he whispered into her hair, rubbing a loving hand up and down her back, holding her shaking hand with the other.

“Psalm 147:3,” she replied, the hushed tone of her voice sounded remorseful and hazy. 

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God, believe in me.”

She pondered this for a moment, thinking.

“John 14:1,” she said, resting her head on her father’s shoulder. She used her free hand to wipe at her tear stained face.

“Jo, look at me,” Father instructed, taking hold of her chin in his fingers and turning her head towards him. Her pale blue eyes met his.

“You were happy once, and still can be. Things have changed, but that does not mean that everything has to stay broken. Let it mend itself and stay strong. Use your writing as a form of expression, not a task. Let it carry you away to something greater. No matter how dark it is right now, the sun always comes out after a rainstorm and behind it is a beautiful rainbow. You have to be the sun, and the rainbow will follow. All you need is your strength, you’ve always been braver than you have known.”

They both teared up at the use of Marmee’s last words to Beth. Jo gave her father one last hug.

She could not come up with the words to respond, but nodded her head. She understood. Her writing was the only thing that could take her far away from Concord, and she was the only force that could compel her to write.

Slowly, she slid out of her father’s lap, walking towards the door.

“Thank you, for everything,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder,

“You are the most welcome.” And with a nod of his head, Jo was off.

She walked up the stairs two at a time, almost racing to reach the garret.

Her desk sat there, looking just as she had left it. Jo hardly remembered the last time she had sat at it, and couldn’t come up with the last time she had written.

It felt just right to sit down at her desk once again, setting her feet down on the hard floor.

She picked up her pen and moved over an empty sheet of paper, setting it in front of her.

There were so many thoughts running through her head.

Laurie, Professor Bhaer, Marmee, Meg, Amy, Father.

But most of all, the only thing she could think of was Beth.

She dipped her pen into her ink, setting it down on the paper.

_ My Beth, _

And so she began, the words flowing out of her faster than she could move her hand. Words of sorrow, loss, love, and hope. All the things she was feeling and overwhelmed with and the perfect balance of tranquility and pain.

Her hand didn’t slow until she reached the bottom of the page, her poem complete.

_ Josephine March. _

She set down her pen, unaware of how much time had passed. She got so lost in her work.    
This was a work she was proud of. It honored Beth in the best way possible. Everything about her sister written on one page/ She smiled, reading over it again and again. It almost felt like a piece of her sister was there with her, always watching over her. Maybe she was, by any grace of God.

She knew that she wasn’t going to be okay right now, but soon, she would be.

Soon, she would be okay.

She just had to keep writing, and the sun shall rise again.

**Author's Note:**

> Is the ending to much of a cop-out? I don't know. I thought it was cute.-


End file.
